Untitled Fantasy Story - Chapter 2

Earymir Tadrierion: Eer-i-meer Tah-dreer-ee-awn
Koilin Riappi: Kuah-lin Ree-ah-pee
Jibrylla Clirka: Jib-ril-la Cleer-ka
Lomode Nilmandra: Lohm-ohd Nil-mahn-dra
Eowóndil Til-Galdur: E-own-dill Till-gall-door
Sar’fynil – Sahr-fie-nihl
Amras Eledhwen – Am-ras El-ed-when

As Earymir pulled the door closed between himself and the others from the council, he heard a subtle sound coming from behind a wall directly before him.


“What have I told you about listening in on closed council meetings.” He asked as he swung a panel of stone aside to reveal a concealed passage and a rather startled young Elven woman.


Sar’fynil was of average height for her people, with long soft blonde hair and a slim figure. She was wearing a simple dress of deep red, cut not only to fit well to her body, but also to allow at the same time freedom of movement. A simple but well made sword hung at her hip, and she wore soft red leather boots that reached up over her calves.


“You told me not to get caught,” she replied, smirking, as Earymir pulled the wall closed behind him, “and I wouldn’t have been had you not ended the meeting so abruptly. I thought you expected it to last a great deal longer?”


He took her arm and began walking along the corridor towards his private study. “They refuse to take the threat of Eowóndil’s armies seriously. They see it as a minor matter that is no different than the last time these people attempted to invade.”


“Last time Eowóndil was not leading them though; do they not realize the difference one general can make in a war? Especially one trained by the people he is attacking?”


Earymir slowly shook his head with a sigh “Lomode is the only one who has ever led an army before, and she allows her fool’s hope to cloud her better judgment.”


“Is there no chance that we could sway him to our cause? It is not unheard of.”


Earymir hated to dash the faint glimmer of hope in her eyes, but knew it to be impossible to do as she suggested.


“Eowóndil would have to not only desire that change with a whole heart, but pass trials that would at this point in time destroy him. I believe that a time may come in the very distant future where he is ready for these things, and where he will in truth desire them, but we must look at the present and not what might come of a future that is yet written.


They walked in silence from there until they reached his study. Sar’fynil insisted on going first through the door into the dark room ahead, and with an inward smile he allowed her to do so. She was good at her job, and it was ill-advised to restrain one’s head general from doing as they felt necessary to ensure their king’s safety, and nothing he could tell her would make her feel he was safe unless she checked herself.


As she signaled to him that it was safe, he suppressed a laugh as he noticed what was against the wall behind her. In a matter of moments what appeared to be a potted fern became a tall Elf with silver eyes without whites or pupils. As the newcomer prepared to place a knife blade against her throat he felt her sword point in a rather delicate position.


“Amras, Sar’fynil, that is quite enough,” chuckled Earymir, “if you two don’t stop fighting at every chance I may take it the wrong way and have the two of you married.”


Having heard this threat often enough, the two were unaffected by it, but they replaced their weapons and stepped apart. “Sar’fynil, good to see you are still as alert as always,” mocked Amras.


Shaking his head, Earymir gestured to the table at the side of the room, “Shall we have a drink? Perhaps a light meal? I believe I have some dragon steak left.” Amras immediately sobered and appeared to accept the reprimand. Though he appeared, usually, to be merely an Elf with some rather strange eyes, he was in truth a Quicksilver Dragon, and one of the last of his kind. If there is any race that Elves hate nearly as much as Dwarves, it is Dragons, of any species. He was an old friend of Earymir’s though, as well as his other head general. This is in part why he and Sar’fynil were always in competition: they did not like being set as equals.


“How did the meeting fair?” Asked Amras after Earymir had set out some Elven wine for the three of them.


“They are still of the mind that the incursion will be easily turned aside.”



More on the way as it is written. Please R&R.